


The Engine

by Missy



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Cinderella - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Dark, Gen, Mentors, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marie did not marry Ella's family for duty, or love, but country.</p><p>And now she shall teach Ella how to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Engine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makiyakinabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makiyakinabe/gifts).



The Tremaine child was staring at her again.

Marie did not take note of her when she’d married Charles; she’d been an accessory at the time, like a small Pekinese pup running at her ankle. Time has advanced, changed everything about them it seems; where once a scrawny child stood now a spindly teenager with great blue eyes sat. From dirt to clay.

How fascinating.

“Ella,” she spoke suddenly. “Finish your dinner. I have much to discuss with you.”

“But mother…” Giselle’s voice from beside her, blast the girl.

“Not now.” And with that she easily silenced her own daughter. 

“Yes, stepmother,” Ella said quietly, turning her eyes toward her quail. 

*** 

The meeting was held past midnight, in what was once Charles’ old office – now the seat of power from which she urged her daughters toward greatness and dynastic 

“Mother,” Ella said, bowing quietly, her hands knotted before her. “You wished to speak with me?”

The girl’s obsequiousness was unhelpful, almost grating. “You don’t have to scrape,” said Marie. “Sit, child. It has been ages since we’ve spoken in confidence.”

“I wouldn’t dream to disturb you,” Ella said. “I understand that you’re busy, working for the orphan’s league.”

The poor child truly believed that that was her mission in life. “I’m not here to speak to you of children,” said Marie. She measured the girl’s form with dispassionate eyes. “Though someday those might be a necessity. We will discuss that at a later date.”

“What are you doing?” Ella wondered, wide-eyed.

“Planning your training,” said Marie. “Have you ever wondered why your father married a Brit, child?”

“I thought…I…” Ella said.

Marie smiled. “Do you know anything about espionage? Read any of those silly novels Giselle and Julia hide under their pillows?”

A light entered the girls’ eyes. “Never,” she said. “It’s wrong to take what doesn’t belong to you.”

Marie’s cold smile ticked a notch higher. “Tell me that when you’ve got another country’s crown jewels in your hand.”

“I don’t.”

“You will.”

And so Ella’s lessons began. 

**** 

The courtship, the wedding, proceeded just as Marie had planned, and soon Ella was the toast of German society, the prince’s favorite, then his bride. She hadn’t even needed to groom the little chit into seducing the boy, necessitating the movement of the wedding up a few months.

The rest fell into easy place for her – seducing the widowed king, the necessitated double-wedding, and the slitting of his throat with an ornamental dagger on their wedding night. There was an irony here, somewhere – about spilling blood on thick, white sheets – someone else’s pumping arterial spray instead of a punctured maidenhead. She wiped her fingers, powdered herself, before emerging with the

Apparently Ella’s poisoning mission had been successful – they rendezvoused with no delay at midnight exact in the palace’s deserted hallway.

 

Her little white hands shook as they traded clothing – swapped her hand-sewn night rail for the drab workclothes of a peasant. Marie forced herself to comfort the child. Assassination was such a disagreeable business, even if the righteousness of your nationalistic fervor coursed hot and wild through your blood. Especially if it was your first time killing.

“There’s a boat headed to Spain in four hours at the docks,” she said, handing the shaking girl a cloak, a leather-bound pack of documents, and three more knives. “No one will miss a little French spinster looking for work, will they? And you will be a legend, the long-lost mysterious German princess, held by the Russians. It will mean war – or at the very least a deference.”

“But won’t the knife mark you out?” she hissed, donning the clothing at a record pace.

“No,” she said. “Didn’t you notice the crest, little fool? It’s a Russian Naval dagger. They’ll be the ones blamed.”

Then, and only then, did the little blonde realize what she’d just done. But by then it was too late for her, and Marie locked an arm around her wrist, escorted her to a drab-looking carriage. She’d write Marie as soon as she docked, she said. Instructions are in the letter, Marie whispered. There will be more. I will tell you more.

As the carriage departed, Marie thought to herself that she’d miss the child. Perhaps. The mission in Spain would determine how much.

But as for Germany? Marie’s eyes glowed. That belonged to her now.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pushing On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448302) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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